


The Last Waltz

by MediumSizedEvil



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, The Austro-Hungarian Empire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediumSizedEvil/pseuds/MediumSizedEvil
Summary: One night in Vienna, on the blue Danube...“Let me lead you.”
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	The Last Waltz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fielding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fielding/gifts).



She couldn't take it anymore; the embarrassment, the stifling heat, the snide looks and the strong smell of perspiration in the ballroom. She quietly slipped out the French windows to breathe in the balmy night air. For a while she wandered aimlessly about the garden by the light of the moon, until she turned a corner and suddenly came upon a young man in evening attire sitting on a bench by the river.

He looked up and politely greeted her. “It's a fine evening, isn't it?” he said airily.

“Yes, indeed.”

“You look tired,” he observed. He patted the bench. “Come and have a seat.”

Even though he was very forward, quite shockingly so, she accepted his invitation nonetheless. She really wanted to sit down for a bit.

He noticed her looking at the violin and bow next to him on the bench. “Broken string,” he explained, showing her the damage. “And this is the last set anyway.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I'll fix it tomorrow. It's good business, these waltzes.” He plucked a few strings. “So how are you enjoying the ball?”

She sighed. “It's torture.”

“Torture? Nobody asked you to dance?” He looked her up and down incredulously. “I don't believe it.”

She blushed. “No, but that is the issue. I can't dance. I've had so many lessons, and I still step on everyone's toes.”

He laughed. “Really? You're a bad dancer?”

“Yes,” she asserted. “I've got two left feet.”

He stood up and held out his hand. “Show me,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Now I'm curious.”

“Oh, I couldn't,” she protested, turning her head away.

His face fell. “Forgive me, I did not mean to impose.” Then he picked up his instrument. “I shall leave you now, Miss,” he said with a stiff bow.

She feared she had offended him, and that was really not her intent. “No, please wait!” she called after him. “I'll dance with you. Just to show you how bad I am.”

He turned around and carefully placed his instrument back on the bench. Then he smiled and held out his hand. She stepped closer and accepted his invitation. He gently pressed his other hand against her back, and they started moving to the faint music.

“Oops! You see? I was not exaggerating.”

He nodded gravely. “Yes, and I think I know what the problem is.”

“You do?”

“You're probably very smart,” he stated, “And you're thinking about a million things right now. The steps, your hands, my nose, the moon in the sky, that boat on the river, what you had for supper, that book you're reading...am I right?”

She nodded slowly. “Almost.”

“Ah good, so you're not thinking about my nose! That's a relief.”

She smiled and bit her lip.

“But you should focus on only one thing,” he continued, looking at her intently. “The music. Feel it in your heart.” He spun her around and pulled her close. “And let me lead you.”

She nodded, and her heart skipped a beat. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the strains of music coming through the open windows. She let herself be guided, blindly trusting him not to toss her in the Danube.

“Yes, that's it,” he said softly.

She opened her eyes and smiled. She felt like she was floating in the air, spinning around in endless, effortless circles. She wasn't thinking, just feeling, lost in the moment. It was magical, and it lasted until the last notes of the waltz died down.

He reluctantly let her go. Then he gallantly bowed to her in an exaggerated manner, while she giggled a curtsy.

“I have to go now,” she said wistfully. “They'll wonder where I am.” She sighed and made to leave. Then she looked back one last time. “Your name, please?”

“Jakob Perlman, your faithful servant.”

She nodded slowly. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Amelie Esterházy.”

“My Lady,” he said courteously, “Pardon me if I seem a bit forward, but have you ever thought of going to America?”


End file.
